In which a dinner is ruined
by JJsMom8506
Summary: Hermione Granger had never been one to allow any bit of knowledge slide from her mind, uninspected and taken at face-value.How is it that she never learned to cook properly?
1. In which a dinner is ruined

_A/N: You should probably know that I created this with the following AU in mind: Snape lives. Haven't thought about how, but that's how this goes for me. Maybe Hermione felt the need to tend to him after his release from St. Mungos. Maybe she was the only one who would. I'm sure there were snarky, smart-arse comments and protests from Snape abound. However it went down, she is now popping in to his home at Spinners End daily to care for him. _

Hermione Granger had never been one to allow any bit of knowledge slide from her mind, uninspected and taken at face-value. She had learned, as of late, that her former potions professor was just as snarky and spiteful as he had been during her school years. She shook her head, smiling to herself as she bustled around her flat in London, gathering the necessary items to care for said former potions professor. After Harry had revealed the truth of Severus Snape's double life, she had childishly assumed the spy would lighten up a bit and enjoy a life free from masters and obedience. How oh-so-very-wrong she had been.

With a soft *_pop_* she apparated to a small park a few blocks away from his Spinners End home. She walked quickly, once again shaking her head. It seemed a bit over kill to her - Snape's refusal to remove the wards that allowed her to apparate directly into his home. The war _was_ over, after all. As she approached his home, she stopped on the step and took a deep breath. Before she could fully raise her hand to knock, the door was flung open rather violently, startling her.

Severus Snape stood in the threshold, his customary glare firmly in place. After a beat, wherein Hermione did not move, he arched one eyebrow dramatically. She caught herself then, schooling her face into a frustrated glare and dropping her hand. She waited for him to stand aside and invite her in, and when it became clear he would not, she didn't bother to hide the exaggerated roll of her eyes as she walked forward. He stepped aside at the last minute, a dark scowl on his pale features.

Severus stalked after her through his entry hall. He certainly would never admit it, but he needed her help to care for the wound on his neck. He had cursed and thrown things at the healers in St. Mungos upon waking up, and as a result they had done the bare minimum required to get him out of the magical creatures treatment ward. He knew he would need help upon leaving, but snarled at the dunderheaded nurse asking kindly if he had anyone at home. St. Mungos had sent a Healer apprentice to his home after his refusal to answer their inquiries by owl post, and to his great surprise his former student was the appointed choice.

"Hmph. You can stop skulking along behind me, you know. This would be so much easier if you'd just accept that I am here to help because you need it, and let me do my job."

A quiet snort behind her told Hermione that he had most definitely heard her, and would continue to be rude at best. Oh well. It was worth a shot.

She had learned to speak frankly with him within a few days of coming to care for him for the first time. Her third day had led her to the knowledge that he _enjoyed_ watching her jump when he growled, or her eyes widening in surprise as he stiffened and snarled at her while she changed the dressings on his wound. It still felt a bit weird, speaking so frankly to Professor Snape. Each time she reprimanded him she would hold her breath for a beat, waiting to be hexed or verbally degraded. He very rarely did either, and she took great pride in being (slightly) less afraid of the still (slightly) terrifying potions master.

As they entered the living room, she quickly transfigured a tall, stiff-backed chair into one resembling a dental chair. She turned to him expectantly, not voicing her question of, "Are you going to sit down?" He waited a second, debating with himself, then said snarkily, "I wish to eat first."

She stared him down for another moment, then sighed and removed her hands from her hips. "If you had answered me truthfully yesterday about the pain, I could have brought food with me. You knew I would be here at precisely 5:00 p.m. today. Why didn't you eat before I got here?

He shrugged petulantly. He wasn't going to admit that it was too painful to eat after she changed his dressings. He gruffly commented - surely "the brightest witch of her age" could cook _something_. He watched her down his nose and waited. She flushed slightly at at his backhanded compliment, and spun on her heel to head for the kitchen.

_Shit_. She thought as she stood in his immaculately clean kitchen. She had never learned to cook being away at Hogwarts for the later half of her adolescence. She grimaced as she remembered her rather pitiful attempts while on the run the last year with Ron and Harry. After the proverbial dust had settled, she had decided to become a Healer. Madam Pomfry was most pleased to give her a glowing letter of recommendation to St. Mungos, and she had been given a Healer apprentice position. As she settled into life after chaos, and spent long hours at the magical hospital soaking up every bit of knowledge she could, she was rather embarrassed to acknowledge her ridiculous (almost exclusive) take-out diet. _Now what? _She certainly wasn't going to go back out there and admit her less than existent cooking skills to _him. _A sudden epiphany came to her - _Spaghetti_! Surely she could manage that. She had seen her mum do it countless times. She never had managed to perfect cooking and cleaning charms as Mrs. Weasley had, but how hard could it be?

Severus waited until Hermione had disappeared through the kitchen door before promptly transfiguring his favorite chair back to normal. He hated when she messed with his furniture like that. He sat down and waited with his thoughts. It ought to be interesting to see what the witch came up with. He loathed not being able to cook or brew at the moment. The steam agitated his wound, and the strain of standing up for more than 10 minutes left him weak and tired. He had been surviving on cold sandwiches for weeks now, and he was sick of it. It wouldn't kill her to whip something up. She had insisted on caring for him, after all.

Hermione tentatively began searching through cabinets and the pantry. She at least knew the ingredients by heart, having been so desperate for reading material at the age of 10 that she turned to her mother's cookbooks. Spaghetti noodles - check. Tomato sauce - check. Tomato paste - check. She opened the refrigerator to search for some sort of meat, and was happy to find some relatively fresh ground beef. _So he can go grocery shopping, but won't cook? Hmph._

She found some spices after a few cabinets, and set aside oregano, thyme, rosemary, and some dried garlic. There. Ingredients gathered? Check. So... she supposed she should set some water boiling. She wasn't that daft. She could cook noodles. Upon finding a pot, she wasn't sure if she should add noodles first, then bring the water to a boil? Or maybe it was the other way around. No, she thought back to watching her mother in the kitchen. Hermione had always been reading while her mother cooked. Perhaps she ought to have paid more attention to what seemed trivial then. She deliberated for a few minutes, then unceremoniously dumped the package of dry noodles into a large pot, and filled it with water. Setting it on the stove and flicking her wrist to light the gas burner, she smiled to herself. This was easier than she'd hoped. She could totally do this.

Half an hour later, Severus couldn't help but to overhear her stage whispered, "_Shit_!" in the kitchen. He almost cracked a grin at that. Imagine, the female part of the Golden bloody trio was having trouble cooking! He decided to get a front row seat for this failure. As he walked slowly and silently towards the kitchen, he could smell something akin to tomato sauce, but Hermione had apparently burned that. Oh dear. This wouldn't do at all. He pushed the door open a crack, to see several pots in disarray on the stove. Hermione had pulled her curly, copper brown hair back and conjured an apron from somewhere. She was standing with her back to him, hands on her head, and appeared to be frantically studying the mess on the stove.

The sight made his breath hitch. For a very brief time in his long life, he had wanted a woman to call his own. That dream had died the night Harry Potter had become an orphan. He had since simply not thought about the prospect of another woman in his life. Until now. Standing there, with her hands on her head, his kitchen with bits of what was tomato sauce and water spills on every flat surface - he realized that the picture before him was what could have happened. What might have been. In that space of half a breath, he realized that he wanted a wife. Someone to share ridiculous failures with. Someone to argue with. Someone to simply sit quietly and read with. A strange pressure was building in his chest. He was startled, and his head was buzzing with foreign concepts of marriage and life after war as she slowly turned around.

Her eyes were wide and fearful. There was a slight tremble in her arms as she brought them to her sides. Her eyes widened a fraction more upon seeing his face. He did not know if he had let his mask of contempt drop, if he had shown her what was on his mind inadvertently, or if she thought the mess would send him into a rage, but in that moment she looked terrified. He quickly snapped his mask into place. He sneered at her and said, "I suppose this means you will know at the very least which restaurant to order from, Miss Granger?"

She nodded her head meekly and moved to begin clearing up her mess. "Go!" he snapped. She froze, and mumbled something about being back soon, before fleeing out of the back door. Standing alone in his now very messy kitchen, Severus sat down at at the table and began pointing his wand at the pots while he thought. Since when did he want marriage? _Oh dear gods. Merlin save him - if he had dropped his mask of anger ... and she had misinterpreted his unspoken thoughts to mean he wanted her _... Severus dropped his head into his hands and winced at the pull of skin on his neck.


	2. Takeout, awkwardness, & tropics

_A/N: Wow! I published this with the intention of it being a one-shot. Just an idea that had been bouncing around in my head for quite some time. This may not ever go further than a few chapters; however, I am inspired and grateful for your follows, favs, and comments. Thanks so much! Please don't expect daily updates from me regularly. I write when inspiration strikes, and that's that. I do promise to try and get up a chapter at least once a week though. _

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. If I were J.K. - my life would be vastly different I presume. I'm just borrowing her character to play with for a while. **_

Hermione didn't really remember leaving Severus Snape's house through the kitchen door. She wasn't paying much attention as she practically ran the few blocks to the park where she could apparate. She found an old, rusty swing set and sat down for a moment. _Breathe. Deep breaths. __**What the hell was that all about?! **_She had just singlehandedly a)failed spectacularly at what was supposed to be a basic task, b)given one Severus Snape an impossible amount of fuel for his horribly rude comments and generally nasty personality, and c)seen something that _looked_ like the edge of a genuine human being in his fathomless dark eyes when he entered the kitchen.

Hermione was confused. She wrapped her arms around herself and errantly thought to be grateful for the late summer weather, lingering sunshine, and an empty neighborhood. After several intense seconds of breathing heavily and slowly in an attempt to calm herself down, she began to do what Hermione did best: analyze. The reason the spaghetti went horribly was simple. She hadn't had a cook book, or library, or frame of reference within the past 10 years to help her. She was simply very unprepared. She should have known better than to try. She shuddered in the warm air at the thought of showing up to a potions class having not the faintest idea of how to brew what was on the board, the wrong cauldron, and no book to reference. She frowned then - transitioning to her last cause of confusion. What had she seen in Snape's face when he stepped into the kitchen? In nearly a decade of knowing the man, she has only once seen _real _emotion in his features - in Dumbledore's pensieve, watching the memories he had given Harry in what he must have been sure was his hour of death. For his usual glare to soften at the edges, his eyes to widen, the tension in his shoulders to appear to lessen (if only ever so slightly) … well, _that_ wasn't the reaction she had expected to her messy failure. She had been terrified to hear him in the doorway. She was _sure_ he was going to draw his wand and have her pay dearly for what she had done to his lovely kitchen (_scratch that - Severus Snape does not own anything __lovely_) she thought. With that sarcastic aside from her subconscious, she snorted. _Just stop it. _She chastised herself. Apparition. Right. She had a job to do.

Severus sat at his kitchen table, head in his hands, for what felt like an eternity. He had closed his mind off to all feelings and thoughts countless times during the wars. It wasn't difficult for him to do now. He felt strange though - sitting here in what was obviously a bizarre tableau with no emotion or thought behind his distressed position. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes at himself. What was he, a 17 year-old fool? It had been nearly 20 years since he failed to close his mind from all thoughts completely. He sighed and winced at the growing (quite literal) pain in his neck. New tissue had finally begun to knit itself underneath the mangled layers of skin and muscle. The bloody snake had missed his vocal chords by mere millimeters, thank Merlin; however, the head Healer at St. Mungos had certainly not let him forget that he was able to breathe only due to sheer force of will. His trachea had been punctured through and through. It had collapsed. How he managed to stay alive before arriving at St. Mungos, no one knew. Miss Granger had once commented that muggles called such situations, "miracles" - not that he cared.

For once he was glad that it took her what seemed to be a very long time to come back with food. Yes, he was anxious to change the dressings on his neck and have another round of pain potion - but he apparently needed time to sort his mind out before she got back. _Foolish girl! _He couldn't have her around while his carefully constructed guard was down. _How dare she invade his space and threaten his sense of want as such?!_ She was his student! Well, not technically anymore. Didn't matter - she had no right to provoke unwanted thoughts and _feelings_ (he sneered outwardly at that word's passage through his mind) in _his_ kitchen. Did she know? Had he carelessly displayed his thoughts on his face for her to see? Had she even bothered to search his face for any thoughts? No, he recalled, she didn't seem to look too long. Just long enough to panic, apparently. Perhaps she _hadn't_ seen his "moment of clarity". He decided then to simply pretend it never happened. Oh sure, he'd make a few snarky comments about her cooking skills and get called a git, but that was the extent of that. He sighed and went to his favorite chair in the living room again, picking up a book he had been reading before her arrival.

Hermione apparated back to her flat in London. She knew every take-out restaurant within a 6-block radius. She deliberated for a moment, not sure if Severus Snape was more of an "Indian" fan or perhaps Chinese? Shaking her head she quickly brought that train of thought to a halt. She did not want nor desperately need to know what type of take-out Severus Snape preferred. She decided that she couldn't go wrong with Fish &amp; Chips, and left her apartment for her favorite place one block over. Once she had received and the food, she walked a few shops down to where she knew a narrow, dark alleyway to be. She apparated back to the park at Spinners End and slowed her steps as she walked closer to his home. _Was he angry with her? _She had created a terrible mess after all - and wasted more than an hour between her failure of the century and the resulting food run. _I have a job to do - anger aside _\- she reminded herself. She very timidly raised her hand to knock on his front door once again. She may have been a Gryffindor, but knocking on the door of the waspish man whom she had just quite possibly offended and/or angered still left her with lingering doubts as to her boldness.

Severus opened the door again, this time much more slowly and not before affixing his usual glare onto his face. He stood aside for her, and as she walked past he drawled, "Suffice it to say Miss Granger that I will never put my faith in your mundane abilities again." She tried (and possibly failed) to hide her wince as he spoke. She supposed she should have known that was coming. She walked straight through to the kitchen, and stopped abruptly upon swinging the door open. It was once again spotless and immaculately clean. She had just begun to turn her head around to thank him, but he was already so _very_ close behind her. She froze; open mouthed, upper body turned awkwardly half towards him. He gifted her with what could _almost_ be considered a smile if it hadn't looked so malicious on his face. She snapped her mouth shut and marched over to the table, trying desperately to keep her blush hidden. _He doesn't get any thanks if he's going to be a smug bastard about it._ She thought as she set out their food. _Oh gods! What if he didn't want me to eat with him? Why would he? I nearly destroyed his kitchen! _She chanced a glance at him as she paused with her food in hand. He simply arched one dark eyebrow at her from his place in the kitchen door and swept over to his seat. As he began setting up his plate as he pleased, she nearly let a sigh of relief escape before muffling it behind her hand and a fake cough.

He pretended to ignore her obvious nervous behavior and began to eat. He would never tell her, but for Fish &amp; Chips from what he was sure was a dismal establishment, it was quite delicious. He very rarely allowed himself to eat such unhealthy fare. For most of his life, it was crucial to maintain his best health for both physical and mental reasons. Now, as he savored the salty, slightly greasy food, he almost smiled at her until he remembered to continue the facade of anger.

She pretended not to watch him from under her eyelashes as she ate. She had never felt so scrutinized while eating before. Although, as far as she could tell, he had yet to actually _look_ at her. _What the hell is going on here?_ She pestered her own subconscious. _Is there a reason I'm suddenly aware of how I chew my food, and __whether or not_ _my elbows are on the table? _An internal debate immediately launched – concerning her foolishness for being concerned with what he thought of her vs. the desperate need to maintain a modicum of decorum after her earlier disaster.

She stopped debating with herself long enough to realize that her (hopefully) empty plate had vanished. She looked around to see her former professor standing in the doorway with that damned eyebrow arched at her again. "If you're quite through with your own foolishness Miss Granger, I believe St. Mungos has sent you here for a reason?" This time she couldn't stop the furious blush that colored her cheeks. How could she be so stupid? Of course he had finished eating and she hadn't noticed. She rose from her spot and followed him back into the living room to begin work on what she was supposed to have done two hours ago. She transfigured his chair once again, and he silently acquiesced by reclining in it. _How undignified_, he thought as she began to rummage in her bag for supplies. A few moments later he hissed sharply as she gently pulled the gauze away from his wound. The potions he was taking throughout the day were causing new skin tissue to form more rapidly than usual, and today his fears were confirmed when the gauze stuck to that new tissue. He made a mental note to cut his dosage in half as long as she insisted he keep the gauze on. As she worked – quickly, efficiently, and silently – he fought to keep from showing any outward signs of pain. He always kept his eyes closed while she worked at his wounds – being neck wounds she was often very close to him and staring intently at her hands. Keeping his eyes open would have been awkward at best, even for him. He had been hit with _Crucio_ more times than he cared to count, but _this? _Merlin's beard – _this_ was painful. He cast his mind about for some distraction to the pain, and immediately took notice of the very faint smell nearby. It was … peaceful. Almost tropical. Coconut, perhaps? Or was that citrus? Or floral? Either way, it was a welcome distraction for him. Until he realized that the smell had to be coming from _her_. He certainly did not keep anything in his home that could be attributed to that smell. It took every ounce of self control Severus Snape possessed to prevent himself from physically vaulting himself out of the chair. That wouldn't do at all. She had to be almost done. He could feel her gently placing new, clean gauze over the now raw wound. It was all he could do to wait patiently for her to be finished before gracefully rising from the chair and maintaining his dignity.

She packed up quickly, and gave a somewhat awkwardly muttered, "Right, well, I'll be here at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow then" before she practically scurried out of his front door. He noticed that she had left an extra dose of pain reliever potion for him, and for once, did not snarl inwardly at her attentiveness to his pain. He flat out refused to even _begin_ to think about his treacherous thoughts concerning the way the girl _smelled_. Nope. Not going there. At all.


	3. Drinks, Silence, & Pink

_Note: Published the unedited version earlier. Whoops. So sorry. That being said - I kinda could use a beta if anyone is interested. _

_A/N: Thanks for the encouragement and reviews! This story is fleshing out to be a LOT longer than originally planned - mostly because the inspiration is still lingering. Every follow, favorite, and review from you all serves as my muse. _

**Disclaimer: I own nothing here. Just shamelessly using J.K.'s characters as my imaginary playthings. **

Hermione Granger sat on her couch, a rather large tumbler of cheap Riesling wine in her left hand. She wished her wizarding friends had learned to appreciate muggle technology and would get cell phones. Granted, half of her friends didn't even live in a muggle-like enough place to have electricity. Oh well. Perhaps she could wander down to Diagon Alley and send an owl. She never had bought one, as Crookshanks would more than likely eat it. She glanced at the clock. _Bugger._ It was already after 9:00 p.m. She doubted the owlery would still be open in Diagon Alley. She decided to just send an owl to Ginny in the morning from work. She still desperately wanted to talk to the girl, and made a mental note-to-self to look into purchasing a small owl for magical communication purposes. Maybe she could cordon off Crooks when she wasn't home?

The trouble (and resulting need to bounce ideas off a girl friend) came from her visit with Professor Snape earlier that evening. She had rarely realized the value of a girl friend until now. Of course, as she was wont to do, she started assessing the situation on her own anyway. A) She needed to learn how to cook. It didn't matter that she apparently could survive on take out just fine. It was a matter of principle. Hermione Granger did not like not knowing. B) She had eaten at Professor Snape's table. He hadn't killed her for it - and that felt weird. She had been so busy obsessing over her mess left in his kitchen, she had failed to notice him standing up and clearing the table. C) Why was he suddenly a person of interest? It was _Professor Snape_ for goodness sake. When the head Healer at St. Mungos had assigned her to daily dressing changes at his home, she had been slightly embarrassed. She knew the Healer was well aware of their awkward history - the Prophet had made sure all of wizarding Great Britain had known about that.

Still, she took the assignment with some pride. The Healer had felt enough confidence in Hermione to give her the job - so she steeled herself for the oncoming rudeness. Up until this evening, it really hadn't been a problem. Sure, he was snappy and impatient at best and often lied about his pain ... but he had at least grudgingly let her do her job. There really was no reason for her to be in a fuss about it all _now_.

The next morning, Severus Snape stirred his tea absent-mindedly. He was not going to think about Hermione Granger. How she had grown and matured in the year she was away from school (the fact that she was starving and on the run escaped him at the moment). How she had taken her new job so seriously, and what a good Healer she was going to make. How she had smelled of coconut oils, citrus, and something vaguely floral. _Dammit_! He was not supposed to be thinking about her. He sipped his tea, agitated with himself for failing to close his mind from thoughts about her.

He shook his head. Nearly dying had made him soft. This was ridiculous. He abandoned his tea to pace restlessly while he sorted out what last night had been all about. Had he really thought he wanted a wife? Crossing that line internally had caused something to shift. Something intangible, indefinable ... something buried deep that he had long abandoned hope for. Allowing himself to even think about the prospect of a woman in his life, knowing all that he had done, and still wanting to be around - it was a ridiculous notion. He would live his days out in solitude. Perhaps he'd start an apothecary. It's not like he could ever hope Minerva McGonagall would allow him back into Hogwarts again. Even though he had been cleared after Voldemort's defeat, there were too many hard won grudges with the wizarding community to peaceably allow his teaching their children. He alternated brooding by the fire in his chair, and pacing as his strength would allow.

Hermione arrived at St. Mungos 10 minutes early, a note to Ginny in her bag asking about drinks around 7:00. She skirted up to the owlery and chose a small, excitable little owl - one who reminded her very much of Ron's little owl Pig. She thought Ginny would get a kick out of it, then made a mental note to _not_ find an owl like this one. Crooks would definitely kill it. Twittering little owl on its way, she headed back downstairs to check in for the day and find out which ward she was in. She rather enjoyed rotating through the different departments. It was always something new, and she never got bored. Her day seemed to fly by - all thought of a certain potions master safely tucked away until she left for the day. She worked and learned, busy but in her element.

She was bloody exhausted. She had spent the day in triage on the ground floor, assessing incoming maladies and sending them on their way to the proper department.

She groaned as she remembered that she still had to tend to Professor Snape and pretend like her utter failure hadn't happened last night. Ginny had sent the excitable little owl back confirming their date later, saying she was thrilled to get out of Grimmauld Place for an evening. She and Harry had gone to clean the place up after the war, and when the remaining order members had left ... Ginny had simply stayed. Much to her mother's dismay of course. They weren't even _married_ yet. Nonetheless, she and Harry seemed quite happy to be slowly transforming the dingy old house into their own, day by day.

As she moved around her flat arranging wound dressings in her bag, she bravely tried to insist to herself that she could definitely get through a dressing change without embarrassment. She had grown up. She was not some terrified little 11 year old who cried over everything. When she raised her hand to knock on his door a short while later, she noticed her hand was shaking. Very slightly, but enough to make her square her shoulders and straighten her back a bit. He opened the door and stood aside, raising one eyebrow as always. She made a note to learn how to do that. It was quite dramatic and had never failed to elicit a response from whomever it was aimed at. As she brushed past him, she couldn't help but notice a faint whiff of parchment and fresh cut grass and something ... decidedly manly. _Huh_. She had never noticed that Snape had a distinct scent before, or that it was uniquely _good_. Why on earth would he smell like that? She smothered a giggle at the sudden thought of him mowing the lawn like a muggle.

_Nope. Nope. Nope. Not going there. _She firmly told herself. Former professor. She had a job to do here. Ever the academic, she noted to at least try to notice his scent more often. Strictly for the purpose of academic comparison to discover his "normal" that is.

He had already transfigured his chair, much the her surprise. His version was much more ... _Snape_ looking than hers though. The nuances were subtle. Instead of a dreary grey, the leather was a smoky green. The padding appeared a bit more stiff than her version. Dark wood graced the legs, rather than her simple but clean brushed stainless steel. She didn't comment on it. She was trying to simply get in, and get out. She waited for him to take his place in the chair, and as he did neither of them had spoken a word yet. She quickly got to work, trying to ignore the tightening lines around his eyes as she removed the gauze.

Severus thought it quite pleasing that the girl had yet to say a word. He was much better at reading people when they were quiet. To his amusement, she was obviously rattled about last night. He had learned his lesson though - choosing to eat a sandwich before her arrival. She finished her job in record time, and he once again had to exercise extreme control to not launch himself out of the (much better) chair. He wordlessly put the chair back to normal, and waited for her to speak. She shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze, and he could not help but notice that her skin was a delicate pale pink - skin that obviously rarely saw the light of day, but had a healthy glow nevertheless. He scowled then, more at his internal observations than her fidgeting, but she only saw the scowl.

"Erm, right. So, same time tomorrow then." and she was gone.

_Well ... that was interesting. _ He thought. Though she had left an extra dose of pain relief potion as before, he noticed that he didn't need it. He was healing, and that thought was pleasing.


	4. Many drinks, dark sidewalks, and Harry

_A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews. You all are really wonderful. Fair warning - there isn't much SS in this chapter. I started writing and ... well ... it is what it is. I promise he comes back next chapter! _

**Disclaimer : I own nothing. I am shamelessly using J.K.'s characters as my imaginary playthings. **

Hermione arrived at the Three Broomsticks a few minutes early, and ordered a few butterbeers for herself and Ginny. As she was sitting down, Ginny practically bounced through the door. Hermione smiled at her friend, and almost wanted to giggle at Ginny's excitable nature. As Ginny sat down, Hermione noticed her quickly tucking her hands further into her sleeves. Remembering to try the infamous arched brow, and knowing Ginny obviously had something to say, she attempted Snape's look. It earned her a round of bubbling laughter from the red head.

"Blimey 'Mione! You've been spending too much time tending to Professor Snape! That was an awful imitation of him!"

Hermione grimaced. So ... nope. That didn't work. She'd tuck it away for later. She did genuinely smile again when her friend appeared to be very near bouncing out of her seat. Hermione knew that Ginny was happy for a night out, but this display of giddiness was borderline questionable. What on earth had her so excited? She leveled Ginny with a solid stare and said, "Alright. Spill it."

Ginny looked around, as if checking for familiar faces, and whipped her left hand up onto the table and shook it out of her sleeve. On her ring finger was a dazzling emerald - surrounded in a delicate ring of shimmering diamonds. In the dim light of the establishment, it stood out sharply. It was stunning. Almost literally - Hermione glanced open-mouthed back and forth between the ring and Ginny's beaming face.

"Ohmygosh! Ginny! Really? When?! Why didn't you tell me when he did it? What did your mum say? That Bugger didn't even tell ME he was planning it!"

Ginny giggled and turned her hand slightly, causing the diamonds to glint and sparkle further in the uneven lighting. As she replied, she couldn't even begin to wipe the beaming smile off her face.

"He asked me last night. Calm down. I don't even think he knew he was doing it before yesterday! Professor McGonagall stopped by around lunch. She must have brought it with her. It was his mum's. I was just about to run out to pick up more paint, and when I got back, he was all ... goofy. Mumbling, _blushing_, the whole nine yards."

Hermione did manage to successfully raise an eyebrow at that. Harry had been known to have his moments of insecurity, but after the war he had seemed to really grow into his skin.

"He waited until we were lying in bed."

Hermione blushed slightly at that. Harry was like her _brother_. Seeing her blush, the younger girl smacked Hermione's arm.

"Oh stop it. It wasn't like that. We were chatting about that awful drawing room, trying to figure out how to tastefully cover up that one wall, and he turns to me and says, 'You know how much I love you, right?' I didn't quite know where he was going with that, but he rolled over and grabbed a box out of his nightstand. He gets up on his knees and gives me this whole speech about my loyalty and love that got him through the hardest years of his life, and how much he appreciates me. I almost lost it - it was the sweetest thing."

Ginny finished her story with a dreamy smile on her face - lost somewhere in her own thoughts. Hermione felt a bit sick at that - she just couldn't imagine Harry being all sweet and gushy. She was truly happy for them though. She supposed she had known it was coming. They had been caught up in some rosey world of their own for a while now.

Hermione grinned at her friend and offered her sincere congratulations. She raised a hand to Madam Rosmerta and ordered two glasses of champagne. Ginny giggled and shushed Hermione throughout the order. She tucked her hand back into her sleeve and blushed.

"Hermione! If this gets out, the bloody Prophet will be all over this and it will be a 3 ring circus!"

Though Ginny was going for stern, she was still grinning like an idiot. Hermione took her glass from the waitress and toasted her friend. She reminded Ginny that word would get out before long, and to embrace it. They had all had their turn in the Prophet over the last few years. It wasn't that horrible.

After the excitement had died down, Hermione mentioned her epic cooking failure. She conveniently left out the parts about how Snape had been the one to ask her to cook in _his_ kitchen, and the remainder of the night with him. She didn't know why, but it suddenly felt like something that needed further data collection before analysis. That, and she suspected Ginny would twist it into some weird romantic notion. She almost shuddered at that. So not where she wanted that conversation to go.

Ginny grinned at her and went there anyway, oblivious to Hermione's thoughts.

"Why Hermione Granger, do you want to learn how to cook to impress someone? Hmmm?

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows ridiculously with that inquiry, making Hermione blush and giggle.

"No! I just need to learn. I can't live on take out forever!"

They settled into an easy banter about Hermione's dismal cooking abilities, and Ginny's wedding plans. Many, many drinks later they stumbled out of the Three Broomsticks, leaning against each other and giggling uncontrollably about the prospect of Molly Weasley's wedding plans for her only daughter. Walking towards Hermione's apartment in muggle London, they didn't see the tall man lurking in the shadows until Ginny bumped into him after stumbling over a bump in the sidewalk.

They both fell back as Hermione had linked her arm through Ginny's. Hermione whipped her face up to see whom her friend had bumped into and gasped. Severus Snape stood in the shadow of a building, snarling down at them both. Talk about a sober up moment. They scrambled to their feet.

"Professor! I'm so sorry!" Ginny gasped out. Snape snarled at them both.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger. You ought to take more care wandering through London in your ... current frame of mind."

Ginny giggled. Hermione's eyes widened. What the hell was _he_ doing here? And did he just insult them? "Yes sir. We're terribly sorry." Why was she apologizing like that? He wasn't her professor anymore. They were both of age. He was being rude just for spite! Damn that infuriating man! She could walk home drunk and giggling with her friend if she wanted to!

Severus Snape continued looming over them, his nearly trademark eyebrow raised again. Hermione squared her shoulders, and elbowed Ginny in the ribs.

"I trust you can make your way home without ... incident, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sniffed indifferently. "I should think so. There is no need for your concern."

He dropped his arched features into a glare. _How dare that little chit take that tone! She could be killed by some muggle rapist in her state! Foolish girl! _

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and took off at a brisk walk; his black robes billowing impressively behind him. Thank goodness she hadn't been sober actually. He did not need her asking why he was here, in this part of London, at this time of night. She definitely did not need to know that he was in search of the establishment she had brought him Fish &amp; Chips from.

The girls waited until he was well past where they stood, and Ginny dissolved into howls of laughter. Hermione started dragging her on - they were only a few buildings away from hers. The red head's laughter was infectious, and soon Hermione felt the headiness of the sheer quantity of alcohol she had consumed rushing back. They made it up to her flat, and Ginny sent a patronus to Harry, asking him to come 'round and collect her. She was not apparating in her state. Harry arrived a short while later, and after another round of congratulations and general excitement he whisked his future wife home, shaking his head ruefully at his love and his dear friend.

Hermione collapsed into bed, grateful that tomorrow was a day off from the Hospital. She still had to tend to Snape, but that wasn't until much later in the evening. He had looked so ... dashing tonight. _Dashing? What the hell? He wasn't some Lord from an 18th century romance novel._ She giggled out loud at that thought, earning her a confused look from Crookshanks curled up on her stomach. She drifted off to sleep, fully clothed, smiling. Her thoughts shifting into strange dreams about cooking (successfully) in Snape's kitchen with him reading quietly at the table.


End file.
